


A Warrior of Gor

by pr_squared



Category: Gor
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:24:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 13,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5795131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr_squared/pseuds/pr_squared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>An old tale I hope you enjoy.</p><p>totally noncannonical<br/>Bosk a buffalo like creature<br/>Ehn something like a minute<br/>Kajirus male slave; Kajira female slave<br/>Larl a lion like creature</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An old tale I hope you enjoy.
> 
> totally noncannonical  
> Bosk a buffalo like creature  
> Ehn something like a minute  
> Kajirus male slave; Kajira female slave  
> Larl a lion like creature

1

He stood on the foredeck of the sleek galley as she cut through the calm waters of the bay. The salt and sea gave spice to the cool air. A brilliant morning sun promised a hot day for the oarsmen who sat chained and naked on their benches. Under the whips of their taskmasters, their strong arms and backs thrust the ship forward to the steady beat of the oar master’s drum. The iron-sheathed ram rose and fell with each stroke of the oars as they propelled the ship powerfully forward. He stood at the bow and faced the breeze. He scanned an empty horizon, and savored his freedom.

Suddenly, the drum took a different note – metallic, higher pitched, and crystal clear. A bell! Warrior awoke with a start. Niobe was ringing the bell to rouse the household. Martis, a slave girl, had dashed ahead to notify the household that the Lady Oppia Tutilla Atia, the young mistress, was returning from her day’s business. In truth, the Lady Atia was no younger than she. However, everyone followed the custom of Penelope, the chief of the household, and called her the young mistress, but never to her face. Everyone, Warrior chuckled, was certainly younger than Penelope – except perhaps Ameirace in the kitchen.

Naked, except for his collar, Warrior needed little time to dress. He stopped for a moment to smooth his thick blue-black hair pulled back in the long tail of the legendary Urth beast called a ‘pony.’ He looked briefly for the vial of the scent that the Lady had chosen for him but knew he had little time. He examined his feet carefully, for well-groomed feet were the sign of a well-run household. When he reached the foyer, Penelope was already waiting. She did not look pleased at his tardiness. Niobe, her assistant, stood demurely behind her. Buttercup, the third boy, knelt naked beside her. 

Damned Bosk knelt directly to Penelope’s right exactly in the spot that Warrior believed was his by right. Bosk –a gift from one of the Lady’s sea captains – was already first boy when Warrior arrived.

Warrior thought that Bosk read Penelope’s disapproving stare and relished his rival’s discomfort. The Lady Atia, followed her Lady Mother’s advice and kept two first boys so that they might compete for her favor. Lacking a comparison, women were vulnerable to sentimentality and too likely to dote overly on a male who was no more than serviceable.

Warrior had never understood what the Lady saw in this Bosk. Bosk was about the same age as he but heavier and well muscled. His male parts were quite impressive and more impressive still in his smoothly shaven groin. Warrior thought Bosk grotesque and clumsy and laughed to imagine him performing the Se-eela, the intricate and graceful dance of seduction. Many said he was called Bosk for his bosk-like physique. Warrior believed the name derived from his bosk-like intelligence. He was the sort of kajirus, Warrior thought, who was most likely purchased at a discount at a side-block sale. His lady was a larl for bargains.

Absolutely no time remained as Martis threw open the heavy outer doors.

The Lady Atia entered with Camilla, her bodyguard and confidant beside her. The Lady’s face and identity was hidden beneath her five veils. The material and tailoring of her elaborate robes of concealment displayed her status, wealth, and taste to any whose opinion might matter.

The Lady Atia surveyed her household. She had every confidence in Penelope and she was very tired. She reached up and removed her street veil, revealing the house veil beneath. Niobe stepped forward to take it from her hand. Atia handed Niobe her two outer veils and stood in her pride veil.

Warrior and Bosk knew the signal. Both crawled forward and kissed the ground before her jeweled sandals. Warrior thought that he had demonstrated more eagerness, been an instant faster and had placed his lips in somewhat more proper position than his rival. He was certainly more graceful. He sensed that he had earned a jealous glance from Bosk, his rival. 

Warrior glanced up and his mistress nodded her assent. Warrior carefully removed her right sandal and Bosk removed her left sandal. They washed her feet. Warrior saw that she steadied herself on Bosk’s broad back and wished it were he. 

Buttercup, named for the goat Lady Atia kept as a pet as a child, attended Camilla. Camilla, wearing only three veils and dressed more appropriately for her function in a boiled leather cuirass over simple tunic and skirt of boiled leather plates, moved her sword and sheath out of his way. Good naturedly, she tousled Buttercup’s already messy hair.

“It’s good to be home,” Atia announced with a sigh. She gestured with her head and walked into her atrium garden. She stopped and inhaled the air, fragrant with jasmine and hyacinth. Her entourage rushed after her. She held out her arms, signaling that she wished to shed her heavy outer robes.

Niobe attended to her, removing the Lady’s heavy outer robe and handing it to Warrior and then her inner robe and handing it to Bosk.

Warrior ran to hang the robe in the wardrobe and returned to find that his mistress had removed her pride veil and veil of the citizeness. She stood in her sheer last veil and her delicate under-tunic, woven from the cocoons of moths. Nothing was hidden now. The silk was almost transparent. He saw the line of her mouth beneath her high cheekbones though the veil. Her soft breasts and the feminine curves of her hip and thigh were clearly in evidence through her sheer garment. Warrior could see the thick, dark curls that crowned her sex. 

“It’s been a long day,” she sighed and stretched. “I so love the garden air.”

The Lady Atia sat in her favorite chair in the atrium garden and sipped her wine under her last veil. Niobe reviewed the household accounts; her wavering voice betrayed her inexperience and lack of confidence. Atia gave her household the same careful attention that she gave her thriving commercial endeavors. Penelope wished dearly that her protégé had more confidence but knew that her household was well run and the report was both complete and accurate.

Warrior sat at his mistress’ feet and cradled her left foot gently in his lap. His strong fingers expertly massaged the tired muscles of her calf and worked the small bones of her graceful feet. Niobe droned on. He made little of her words. He found nothing of interest in the little he understood, but her voice was soothing. Warrior relished the feel of the Lady Atia’s smooth skin in his hands and the solid weight of her foot, resting in his groin next to the “K” that she had ordered branded into the skin of his thigh. He closed his eyes and focused on the subtle fragrance of her perfume and allowed himself to imagine the even subtler aroma of her ineluctably female presence. She sipped her wine and he wondered how such exquisite wine might taste in so fine a goblet. Once he had tasted such wine when she had splashed it playfully on her body. Briefly, he wondered also how her lips might taste, but that was beyond even his dreams. Her heard her sigh with contentment and hoped he might have contributed something to her pleasure. 

Desperately, he wanted to look up upon her face but lacked the audacity. He was only a slave, but he was proud of his mistress’ effortless beauty. She was neither capricious nor cruel. However, her household was well ordered and he knew well that every transgression had a price. He felt his sex stir to her female essence and prayed to go unnoticed. Few had compassion for the slave who too openly betrayed his lust for his mistress. However, worse yet was the plight of the slave who revealed that he found his mistress sexually undesirable.

Life gets no better than this, Warrior thought. He heard sighs and heavy breathing coming from the nearby room where Camilla was taking thorough pleasure from Buttercup. He allowed himself to imagine this one way in which his life might yet be better. Then he opened his eyes and saw Bosk, his rival, diligently massaging the Lady’s left foot. His face revealed his utter concentration. Warrior suddenly imagined another way in which his life might be better.

“I’ll bathe after dinner,” Atia announced when Niobe had finished.

“Arrangements will be made, my Lady.” Niobe answered. The fire in the hypocaust would be stoked to warm the water.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 

Warrior remembered the first day he found himself alone with his Lady in her bedchamber. He was naked except for his collar, but he had long been denied clothing for so long, that he could hardly remember being clothed.

The Lady sat on the edge of her richly carved wooden bed amidst the finely made linens and blankets and watched him carefully. “You’re a lovely boy,” she said simply

Warrior found the hot intensity of her stare impossible to bear. His eyes fled briefly to the room’s elaborate wall hangings, and beautiful appointments. The colorful carpets were thick and luxurious. He looked out the window and gave himself a moment’s permission to consider the larger world outside

“My Warrior, attend to me,” she said quietly. She spoke softly but the authority in her voice was inescapable and beyond question.

Warrior knelt at her feet. He lowered his lips and kissed her jeweled sandal.

“Lovely boy, remove my sandals.”

Careful, he removed her sandals. Her graceful feet were meticulously groomed. He placed her footwear neatly beside her bed then looked up. He saw her toy, mounted in its leather harness, lying beside her on the bed and trembled in fear.

Atia read his expression. “Don’t be afraid. You are a lovely boy and you are mine. I will have you tonight but first you will have to strap on my harness with your own hands and beg me.

He could not hide his disbelief. He shook his head doubtfully but her perfume filled his head. He was awash in her female presence and her desire was palpable. His body answered her and he could not hide his arousal.

Atia laughed. Her laugh was gentle and unforced. She laid her hand softly in his head and tousled his hair. “I would have your mouth on my body.” She opened her thighs slightly and pulled back her robe.

Warrior’s eyes darted to her sex, now nakedly revealed among the thick neatly trimmed curls of her bush. Her hand guided him. She was already wet when his tongue slid between her folds. He was eager but inexperienced. She guided him with both hands. She lifted her legs over his shoulders and pulled his entire body closer. Her body answered him readily and she made no attempt to hide her pleasure. She closed her firm thighs on either side of his head. His easy success motivated yet greater effort and his greater efforts evoked yet greater response. Atia came breathlessly, leaving Warrior almost as breathless as. Fondly, she stroked his face, wet with the evidence of her arousal. 

Warrior felt a moment’s triumph but then he looked up and saw her ivory phallus mounted in its leather harness.

“Are you done for the night, lovely boy?” she teased. “That was only an appetizer.” When she was younger, she had been frightened of the power of her orgasms. She had allowed herself only one, lest she lose her mind to pleasure utterly. Now she was older and more comfortable with her appetites. She lifted her toy from the bed and unfolded the straps. “Shall I call another boy from the kennel?”

Warrior felt panic and pressed his mouth to her sex once more. The kennel was well stocked with other boys, all eager to please their mistress. Should she send him back to the kennel, she might never call for him again. Now he knew better what was needed and brought her once again to orgasm. He looked up hopefully but saw that she still held her toy in her hands.

“I would have you take this in your mouth,” she said. She studied his reaction.

He kissed the head awkwardly. It was smooth and cool to his lips. She pushed it into his mouth, gently but firmly, and he gagged.

“Lady Atia laughed. “I see you will need more practice. Perhaps you might practice with my Bosk?”

Warrior thought of Bosk and shuddered with distaste. He returned to his task more eagerly.

Atia slid from the bed. Warrior knelt at her feet. “Lovely boy, I would have you. Now.”

Warrior was visibly scared but he took the harness from his mistress’ hands. Mindful of the substantial privilege he had been granted, he fastened the belt around her narrow waist and the two straps around her smooth, firm thighs. The damned thing looked so damned huge. Warrior looked up. Atia’s eyes gleamed with desire. Her wanting was palpable and irresistible. His will was nothing before hers for he was only a slave. “Mistress, please take me. I am yours.” He whispered softly but loudly enough to be heard.

His ass was high and toned. Atia was gentle and persistent. She was not disappointed. The first time, she took him from behind with him bent over at the waist. She spent ten ehn slowly working the fat head past his tight rectum. She warned him to relax lest he make things more unpleasant than necessary. Finally, he opened for her like a flower. She savored her triumph and his surrender. Like rich red wine, taking a boy this way was an acquired taste. The act required some skill. She recalled her first several attempts and chuckled at her naïve clumsiness.

She took him the second time with him lying supine so that she might better see and touch the script “K” that she had had branded on his left thigh. Amused, she watched the expressions that flashed across on his face, namely, fear, pain, and delicious surrender. Most find a boy’s expressions distracting and prefer to take him prone. Things went much faster the second time and again, Atia took her pleasure fully.

When she had finished, Warrior washed himself. He washed the Lady’s toy thoroughly and put it carefully back in its place. He served her once more with his mouth. She kissed him gently on the forehead. She did not send him back to the kennel at all that night. He had served her well and she allowed him to sleep on the carpet next to her bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Bosk followed his mistress into the steaming caldarium. Enticed by the warm, scented water, the Lady Atia shrugged off the day’s fatigue and quickened her step. She shed her sheer inner tunic carelessly and slipped naked into the inviting pool.

Bosk hurried after her. He retrieved her garment from the tile floor where it fell. The delicate tunic, looking yet more flimsy in his large hand, was still warm from her body and carried a trace of her exquisite perfume. Longingly, he envied its intimate contact with her body. He folded it carefully and stowed it in a safe, dry place.

He followed her into the humid, softly lit chamber. Her beauty always made him tremble. Atia half stood and half floated in the chest high-water. Her soft breasts bobbed in the water, their dark nipples breaking the surface. Her long black hair gathered around her head like a dark storm cloud. When he saw her, his bitter yearning for his old life vanished.

She was as naked as he but none might mistake who was mistress and who slave. Where she wore a small but finely crafted jeweled pendant, he wore a simple slave collar. His collar was simply inscribed in plain block letters, “Property of Lady Atia of Cos” and his thigh bore her brand, a script “K.” While the inverted delta of a mature woman cloaked her sex, his body was smooth, completely depilated.

The Lady Atia maintained high standards in her household. Well-pedicured feet were the first requirement of a well-run household. Body hair was unacceptable on her males. Her boys spent hours assisting one another in their grooming so as not to fail her exacting eye. Minutely, they inspected one another in order to pluck the last stray body hair and meet her uncompromising expectation.  
.  
Eyes closed, Atia soaked in the warm, scented water and felt the fatigue slowly wash out of her tired body. Her business interests were many and complex. The day had been quite long and arduous but quite successful.

Atia felt the water ripple as Bosk slipped behind her on the side of the pool. He lowered his legs on either side of her and she moved back against him. She stepped backwards and hooked her graceful arms over his muscular thighs. Atia enjoyed his solid presence. With a sigh, she extended her neck backwards and rested her head against his groin. Her body rose in the water and she floated supine.

Bosk cradled her head in his large left hand and then reached for the container of perfumed soap. He spilled the viscous liquid into his palm and gently worked the soap into his Lady’s thick dark, hair. Careful to protect her eyes, he massaged her scalp and she purred with contentment.

His hands worked methodically. For a moment, he relaxed his vigilance and closed his eyes. His mind wandered. Briefly he thought of the days before his captivity – of his home and family. He thought of his proud ship and that fateful pirate attack. His memories were painful. When he let his thoughts linger, the pain became raw and throbbing. Almost in a panic, he opened his eyes and saw his mistress’ face an arm’s length away, nakedly exposed without a veil. Her expression was peaceful and content. Her loveliness always healed his pain. Her real presence held him to the “here and now” and saved him from the “what might have been.”

He cupped the scented water in his large hands and rinsed her hair clean. He helped her from the bath and wrapped her in a large warm towel, which he had warmed on the hypocaust.

Atia’s laughed to see that the rich white lather had streaked Bosk’s bare thighs, groin, and belly. She flicked the frothy suds from his sex. Sometimes even his clumsiness was endearing. “Fetch Bilitis, I would wax my legs,” she said. Sometimes she still had need for a girl’s deft and nimble hands despite her fondness for her boys.

She laughed at her vanity. Bosk heard her laugh and found in her laughter the strength to master his pain and go on living for another day.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

“It’s good to be a guest in your noble house once more, Lady.” Captain Barbatus said. He held Martis firmly by her collar. He had grabbed the girl without a word as he crossed the threshold into the Lady Atia’s house and dragged her along with him. She was a lithe and lively wench. “I’ve been much too long at sea.” The other captains mocked his service to a merchant “princess” and their taunts had begun to erode his judgment.

Barbatus was one of the Lady Atia’s best captains. “My house is your house, Captain,” the Lady responded graciously. The Captain had fully earned her indulgence.

Unable to wait any longer, he positioned Martis over the heavy table and ripped the cotton tunic from her back and the small clothes from her waist. He ran his calloused hand down the length of her spine and poked his thick fingers between her pert buttocks. Her skin was smooth and soft. Naked now except for her thin collar, she shuddered at his touch and groaned aloud when he cupped her female parts. He chuckled at her discomfort. Without any preliminaries, he hitched up his tunic. He glanced up for an instant and caught Atia’s eye. “Excuse me for a moment, Lady,” he mumbled and thrust himself into the girl.

“Unlikely more than a moment,” Atia mumbled and averted her glance. His coarse manner annoyed her.

Martis closed her eyes and tried to relax. A slave simply cannot be raped, she knew, because she owns her will no more than she owns her body. Both belong to her mistress. Her pain belonged to her though but her pain was only temporary and soon was replaced by an aching dullness. She felt her body respond to his uninvited assault and bit her lip fiercely. She knew that Barbatus sensed that her own body had betrayed her and was enjoying his thorough triumph.

She felt him withdraw. A moment’s relief was replaced by sheering pain when he renewed his assault on her other passage. Her small body yielded to his overwhelming masculine strength. 

Several minutes later he finished and pushed the girl away. “She’s a saucy one!” he gloated. “And where’s my dinner?” he asked brightly. “I’ve worked up a monstrous appetite.” Martis crawled away, hoping to avoid further notice.

Atia swallowed her displeasure and nodded her assent. Martis grabbed the remnants of her garment and fled to the kitchen. Blood ran from her lip and down the inside of her thigh. Bosk and Warrior of opposite gender but sharing her pain, looked away. 

“Tell me, Lady Atia, the girl bears no brand. Why?” Barbatus asked after dinner. Warrior and Bosk cleared the dishes silently 

The Lady Atia looked at Camilla. Good manner had certain boundaries and one did not ask a friend too many questions about her slaves. “Which girl?” Atia replied, deliberately feigning ignorance. Martis had cleaned herself and dressed. She bravely served Barbatus, her assailant, at dinner. 

Now Barbatus was puzzled. “I believe you call her Martis.”

“I have not seen fit to mark her yet.” In truth, Atia owed him no explanation.

Barbatus sensed that he had somehow transgressed and quickly sought to make amends. He felt himself sweating. “Are you enjoying the boy I gave you?”

“Yes, my Bosk serves me well.”

Barbatus was pleased to see her smile. “So that’s what you call him.” Bosk was a very widespread name for a kajirus. “Well, I brought your Bosk a present.” Barbatus pointed to a satchel at his feet. “Please let your Bosk open his gift.”

Now Atia was puzzled and a bit annoyed. Giving someone else’s slave a gift was also highly unusual. However, she was curious and she signaled her assent. Bosk came forward and opened the satchel. 

“We took your Bosk from a pirate ship, as you recall.” Barbatus explained. “He was a captive and not a pirate – a captive receiving quite generous treatment from the look of things. Likely in expectation of a generous ransom.”

Bosk reached in the satchel and retrieved a helmet and a matching exquisitely worked cuirass. He face clouded. The objects were achingly familiar. Only his skirt of metal plates was absent.

“Tell him to try them on for size.” Barbatus asked.

Bosk looked to his mistress. He prayed that she would end his torment and ignore the request. However, Atia’s curiosity had been piqued and her look told him to comply with the Captain’s request. Bosk donned the cuirass and pulled on the helmet, leaving his naked bottom exposed and bare. The helmet and cuirass fit perfectly – leaving no doubt that they had been manufactured personally for him.

“We found the armor with your boy. It bears an inscription naming him Ursus of Verbenna, the son of the Administrator. Your princeling looks handsome in his armor. Might he dance for us – the Se-eela, perhaps?”

Even Atia smiled. She clapped her hands twice sharply and Bilitis and Mnasidika began to play. 

Bosk tried gamely. He wanted desperately to please his mistress. The helmet and cuirass were exquisitely made, but looked quite comical on a half naked man trying to perform the intricate steps of the dance of seduction. 

Atia was in a forgiving mood. A high-born slave added much to her standing. Given that, even his clumsy but sincere efforts detracted little from her mirth.

Everyone enjoyed the show. Warrior certainly enjoyed his rival’s extreme mortification. He was certain that Bosk would relish his degradation similarly, given the opportunity. Many believe that a slave cannot be humiliated as he lacks any shred of human dignity. However, most have never been a slave. 

Barbatus felt relief wash over him. He had earned the Lady Atia’s favor. The hateful stares of the male slave meant nothing. He did not even notice the way that Martis looked at him.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A slave has few opportunities to make a request of his mistress. Atia straddled Bosk’s hips. His maleness filled her to a delicious fullness. Warrior’s mouth and naughty tongue pressed against the place where they joined and multiplied her pleasure. Atia was breathless with pleasure. She stroked Bosk’s face fondly, “My princeling,” she said softly. She thought to kiss him on the lips but then thought better of it and kissed him fondly on the forehead.

“My Lady,” Bosk replied. He shifted his hips and Atia trembled with an after shock of pleasure. “Your boy would beg of you a request.”

Atia smiled indulgently. She was well accustomed to the manipulative ways of a kajirus, but her Bosk had pleased her exceptionally well. “Ask?”

Bosk was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he found the words and courage that he needed. “When your captain took me from the pirates, he never offered me the Warrior’s Choice. Lady, I love you with all my being, but I would rather be dead than be a slave – even your slave.” To avoid slavery, a captive was entitled to choose death, the Warriors’ Choice.

Warrior sat up and backed away quickly. He stared at Bosk in the dim light. Atia froze motionless. No one even noticed him as he slid quietly from the bed. 

Atia shook her head in disbelief. She felt him soften within her and slid forward to straddle his broad chest, leaving a track of wetness up his belly. His nipple rings pressed against her bare thighs. Branded and circumcised, a kajirus was marked for life and had absolutely no hope returning to his old life. She touched his nose fondly. “I will not slay you or order you slain.”

“I will do the deed myself. Give me your permission and the means.”

Bosk’s sadness was evident. Atia searched his face for any evidence that he shared her uncertainty. Doubt clouded his features for instant but was quickly replaced by grim resolve. She knew that if one cannot part with her possessions then they own her and not she them. She reached under her pillow and retrieved her dagger. She handed it to him, handle first. “Be quick about it or I might change my mind. And no messiness on my carpets or bedding.” Atia stood. 

Warrior backed further away and prayed to avoid notice. He lowered his eyes and wished he were invisible. Atia stood and pulled a robe about her. “You,” she said looking at Warrior in the flickering candlelight, “you shall tidy up the room. I want no evidence of this business when I return.” 

She walked quickly from the room, praying that neither of her boys saw the tears running down her cheeks. By habit, she paused at the mirror. “I am Oppia Tutilla Atia,” she whispered to the image, then took a deep breath and laughed at her silliness. What should she should care what mere slaves might see or think. However, her laugh was hollow and her sleep was troubled that night and for nights to come.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Atia looked at her Warrior differently after Bosk’s death but she had always loved a good party and perhaps Lady Alycia’s party would sweeten her sour mood. Lady Alycia of the Palatinas had always been an inventive and mischievous hostess. Each guest was to bring a boy

Atia’s Warrior and Buttercup, knelt in a line with Lady Atella’s Bosk and Lady Lepida’s Achilles. Atella’s Bosk was a strapping youth and regret clouded Atia’s mood at his resemblance to her Bosk. 

Alycia inspected them carefully. “Which do you think, dear Atia?” Alycia asked. “Which of these should father my child? Who wants to be the billy to my nanny goat?” She suppressed her smile and almost choked.

All heard her. The other guests stopped their chatter abruptly and just stared. The boys heard her too and struggled to maintain their composure. On Gor, sex is not shameful. It is a treasured human appetite, but unlike eating, it as activity rarely pursued in front of casual acquaintances.

“Alycia, are you going to do him right here in front of everyone?” Livia asked in disbelief. “You are some horny nanny goat.”

The petite blonde smiled mischievously. “Should liven up this tedious party and give you dreary dullards something to talk about. Iason, might you find me a bench or table? Alycia stopped in front of Buttercup. “What do you call this one?”

“Buttercup.” Atia answered and smiled.

Alycia grinned. “That’s a very good name for a goat. Do you think he’s cute?” Alycisa asked Nephele her servant.

Nephele knew that no answer was required of her.

“How about this one?” Alycia inspected Bosk. She saw the mark of the House of Claudia. “Let me guess, Atella. You call him Bosk.” Sometimes it seemed that every household boasted a Bosk.

“You’re exactly right!” Atella answered.

“Bosk, look at me. Do you find me attractive?”

“Yes, my Lady.” Bosk answered, eyes averted.

“That’s nice, boy!” She called him boy even though he was certainly older than she. “Look at your male parts. The gods were openhanded when they gifted you. I bet no one mistakes you for a girl! Do you think you would be a comfortable fit? Would I have a sore back in the morning? Well, what do you think?”

Bosk didn’t know what to say and wisely kept silent.

“Perhaps he doesn’t think at all! Boy, you appear to be a real mouth full.” Alycia quipped and turned next to Warrior. “This one. What is his name?”

“Warrior,” Atia answered and winced at her lack of imagination. “I call him Warrior.” It seemed that every household boasted a ‘Warrior’ too.

“This one will be the billy to my nanny goat. Nephele, take him and prepare him.”

Nephele helped Warrior to his feet. She took him by the arm and led him off. “I am to prepare you for Mistress,” she explained. In the lavatory, she moistened a cloth in scented and held it out for him. “Clean yourself,” she encouraged.

Warror took the cloth and eagerly cleaned his naked body.

“Mistress asks that I restrain you and blindfold you,” Nephele said when he had finished. “She worries that you will find too many distractions or become too excited and unable to control yourself.

Warrior looked uncertain but the choice wasn’t his.

She saw his doubt. “You want to make coitus, certainly. Do want me to tell my Lady Alycia that you wish not to make coitus?” Nephele asked doubtfully. “Perhaps you prefer your hand or one of the boys?”

Warrior tried to imagine the consequences of a refusal and shook his head grimly. He shrugged his shoulders to signal his compliance.

Nephele secured his wrists behind his back and wrapped a cloth over his eyes. “There,” she said. “That is not too bad. Is it my pretty one?”

Warrior said nothing. He tested his bonds and found them secure.

Nephele led him back to the others.

“There you are! There you are, Nephele and here is our billy,” said Alycia. “Livia, Flavia, Atella, Iera, Atia – I thought your Warrior forgot me or perhaps my treacherous Nephele ran away with him,” she feigned injury.

Warrior heard their voices and sensed their presence, standing around him. He detected a cacophony of fragrances but stared through his blindfold but saw nothing.

“Nephele, arouse him and bring him to me.”

“Must I, my Lady, in front of all these gentle people?”

“Now, Nephele. My desire grows urgent.” She groaned aloud, theatrically and everyone laughed.

Nephele knelt at Warrior’s feet. Gently, she cupped his balls and lifted his sex. Warrior moaned, when she took him in her warm, wet mouth. His body responded promptly to her skillful ministrations. “He chokes me, my Lady,” Nephele sputtered.

“He is ready then. Bring him to me. I want him now!”

Nephele stood and guided Warrior by his rampant cock. Blindfolded, he saw nothing. “She wants you – she wants you so badly,” she encouraged. “She wants you now!”

Warrior groaned his need and thrust himself forward. He felt tightness and then slipped inside deeply. He grunted his triumph and pumped wildly. Nephele kept one hand on his cock and one hand firmly on his buttock.

“Warrior, you beast!” Atia exclaimed at his animal noises. Laughter erupted again.

Lost in his need, Warrior heard nothing.

“Alycia, this will never work,” said Flavia.

“You’re saying that Warrior will never make me a mother?” Alycia asked. 

Warrior somehow heard her words. He was puzzled. Her voice was to his side and not before him. Warrior took a step back and disengaged himself. Nephele could not stop him

The nanny goat bleated in protest. The poor beast broke loose of Jason’s strong arms.

Livia laughed so hard she choked. Atella stuffed her fist into her mouth to stop laughing. Flavia thought she might pee on herself.

“This is something you don’t see every day, my friends!” Alycia boasted.

“Bilitis,” Atia called. “Our Warrior needs some help with his toilet.” She had wondered if she could ever look at him as she had before her Bosk’s death. She wondered now if she could every look at him again as she had before today’s misadventure.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The heavy outer doors swung inward without warning. Camilla rushed across the threshold with the Lady Atia cradled under her arm. Buttercup, who had been charged to watch the door, followed. He aided Martis who hobbled painfully beside him. Something was terribly wrong. 

“Wine!” Camilla commanded. “Bring wine!” She held her sword in her hand, its blade unsheathed and streaked with blood. She gasped in great heaving breaths. Her armor was smeared with blood but fortunately, little of the blood was hers.

Penelope rallied the household. Warrior quickly appeared with two goblets of wine – the second best wine for he could not find the best in his haste. Not standing on ceremony, Camilla took the goblets from his hand and gave one herself to Atia. 

Atia drank deeply. 

“More wine,” Camilla said. “Now! Bring a goblet for Martis.”

Martis looked pale. Her coarse tunic was ripped and bloody and the blood appeared to be hers. However, she was only a slave, no better than he, but Warrior knew better than to question the direct request of a free woman. He ran off for a third goblet and a wine decanter.

Atia shrugged off her terror and fatigue. She smiled. “Yes, bring wine for my little warrior.”

By now the household had gathered – Penelope, Niobe, and the others. Assassins had attacked them in the market. Camilla had dispatched two but then a third joined the attack. Little Martis had thrown herself at him fearlessly and distracted him long enough for Camilla to deal with the first two and rescue their mistress. 

Atia shook her head. “I should really listen to you, Camilla, and devote more time and attention to weapons’ practice.” 

Camilla answered. “Then I should have to find another occupation, my Lady. You’re so good at everything you do. Perhaps Penelope can find me something to do in your household.”

“As long as you have nothing to do with our accounts,” Atia retorted, regaining some of her usual bravado. “Maybe you can help Ameirace in the kitchen.” Ameirace, older even than Penelope, ruled the kitchens with an iron hand. “And you Martis, what might I do for my little warrior. Everyone listen, my Martis risked her life to save me and I would grant her any reasonable request. My little warrioress, you may ask for anything – except your freedom.” She studied the girl’s blood streaked face.

All eyes turned to Martis and she was distinctly uncomfortable with everyone’s attention. Images and ideas raced through her head. Today had been a day like no other. She thought of Bosk. “Lady, forgive me, but as you call me your little warrior today, I would claim the Warrior’s Choice. I was enslaved as a child and asked nothing. Now I am your little warrior and I would finally have my due.”

Atia was utterly surprised and at a loss for words. She thought of her Bosk. “You risked your life to save me! Am I such a monster that my servants prefer death to my service?”

“Lady, Í would gladly have given my life to save you. In death, I will find freedom and for that also, I would gladly give my life.”

“How would you do the deed, little one,” Camilla asked sympathetically.

“Would you lend me your blade, warrior?” Martis examined her wounds. “I find that my body can bear the keen edge of a blade better than some other assaults. She remembered Barbatus with bitterness. If you will not help, I would borrow a sharp knife in Ameirace’s kitchen and find a place where I will trouble no one.” 

“So death is really your choice, Martis?” Lady Atia asked plainly.

For a long moment, Martis looked frail and uncertain. Suddenly, her steely determination returned and she raised her eyes and boldly locked stares with the Lady. Warrior gasped at her audacity. No one spoke and most held their breaths. “It is,” Martis stated plainly and simply. 

The Lady Atia turned away first. She searched for the right words. “Martis, you must understand. I have seen too much of death today. I almost made his unwelcome acquaintance myself and he did not seem a friend whom I would willingly seek out. I simply will not grant you the Warrior’s Choice.”

Martis gasped. The pain of her wounds broke through the last remnants of her strength. Freedom had seemed so close. 

The Lady Atia spoke. “Martis, in lieu of death, I would grant you a quite precious bauble.” All knew the Lady Atia’s interest in the jewelers’ arts.

Through her pain and disappointment, Martis could not fully grasp her mistress’ full intent. What need had she, a slave, of a piece of colored glass, no matter how shiny and glittery. Such were available in quantity to any slave girl in the Lady Atia’s wealthy household. Whatever she might own, she herself was owned – livestock – a piece of property.

The Lady was surprised by Martis’ lack of comprehension. She had always been so bright a girl. Well, today was no ordinary day. “Martis – little warrior – you may return your collar to Penelope. Today, I grant you your freedom! Niobe will write up the papers.”


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

Martis lay supine on the narrow table. She had survived four hours in the practice yard with Camilla and every muscle in her body ached. Her sword arm felt like rubber. She was exhausted and would sleep soundly tonight, only to waken to yet more pain and stiffness in the morning. Slavery was never this bad, she had quipped. Martis found herself a harsher mistress than the indulgent Lady Atia. Camilla seemed entertained by her wit, but Martis knew that she had spoken falsehood. In truth, slavery, even in the household of a most lenient mistress was never this good. 

Pollux started with her shoulders – strongly kneading the knotted muscles of her back and neck. He worked his way done each tired, aching arm. He dressed the new calluses on her hands with a soothing ointment. Next, he turned his attention to her tired feet. Then he massaged the tired muscles of her calves. Working on the right side and then the left, he worked his way up to her drained thighs. She closed her eyes and let her mind wander. His strong fingers almost hurt but hurt so good.

“Lady,” he said, “please turn over now.”

Martis, lost in her reverie did not answer. Finally, she noticed that her massage had stopped. She wondered why he had stopped. She had not told him to stop.

“Lady, Lady Martis?” he asked again, his uncertainty obvious in his voice. Perhaps, she had fallen asleep. That had happened before and then he would simply have to wait for her to awaken. He studied the form lying naked before him. She was petite, but she had the body of a woman. Her eyes were closed and her breaths came slowly and evenly. Perhaps, he should find something to cover her against the chill night air.

His words finally penetrated her consciousness. ‘Lady Martis,’ that was she! She, who once had been a slave, now was free and this lovely boy named her ‘Lady Martis.’ She stirred and rolled on her back. She looked up and saw Pollux looking back at her. He was naked except for his collar. She was as naked as he and half his size, but no one might now doubt who commanded and who obeyed. His eyes showed his worry that he had somehow annoyed or offended her. She delighted for a moment in his discomfort but reassured him gently with her smile. 

She raised her arms and crossed her wrists behind her head, raising her round breasts. She watched him work on her trim thighs. Since winning her freedom, she had allowed her pubic hair to re-grow and it had re-grown, every day an itching torment. Pollux’ body was shaved smooth and his ample male sex was plainly displayed. She reached out and touched his sex. The golden ring that pierced the glans of his penis was cold and smoothed to the touch. She closed her eyes again and her breaths came slowly and evenly. 

Suddenly, she awoke with a start. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the table. She slipped off the table to stand on her wobbly legs. “Pollux, attend to me,” she commanded, seeking that gentle but authoritative voice the Lady Atia affected so naturally. She hoped she hadn’t squeaked. 

Pollux knelt at her feet and kissed the ground.

“Up, up!” she urged, pleased with his eager obedience. She had won her first victory.

He rose to his knees and kneeling, he was almost as tall as she.

She looked him directly in the eye, a practice she had learned with some difficulty but critical in one so lacking height. She smiled when he acknowledged her mastery and lowered his gaze. This was her second victory.

She reached between his brawny thighs and cradled his balls gently in the palm of her small hand. Softly, she ran two fingers along the underside of his penis. He tried to hold himself motionless and ignore her tender assault. In the end, he sighed deeply. A groan escaped his lips and his body responded vigorously to her mere touching. Martis relished her third triumph.

She placed her hands on his shoulders, ignoring his erection that poked her in the flank. His heavy cock was thick as her wrist. She stroked his face softly, then took his large head in her two small hands. She drew him to her and her new-grown pubic hair scratched his belly. Her soft breasts pressed against his muscular chest. She kissed him on the forehead. “You are a lovely boy,” she said.

Her perfume filled Pollux’ head. He trembled at the pressure of her soft breasts and the touch of her warm lips. Chains and shackles were rarely in evidence in the House of Lady Atia. Some bonds are stronger even than steel.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 

Warrior cleared the dishes from the atrium after dinner. This is not a job for the first boy, he brooded. However, Castor served the Lady tonight. Buttercup served Camilla and Pollux served Martis. Fortunately, the kitchen was not totally without prospects. From the leavings of dinner, Ameirace assembled hearty portions for the slaves and usually something special for those she favored. Along with his kitchen duties, Warrior would get first choice.

Something had changed in the House of Atia after Bosk’s demise and the attack on the Lady’s life. After Martis’ abrupt change in status, much that had seemed certain seemed much less so. As much as Warrior had resented his rival Bosk as they competed for the Lady’s favor, he found he missed the big, clumsy fellow. After his debacle with Alycia’s goat, he felt something different too in the Lady’s attitude toward him. He had fallen far in her esteem. He sensed coolness and distance. She never called him to her chambers anymore.

One thing had stayed the same though and that was the quality of Ameirace’s kitchen. She was gray-haired and overweight but that old girl could cook and even her cold, half-eaten leftovers were tasty. Old and experienced as she was, she knew something about male appetites. Good hearted girl that she was, she often put something aside for the boys and something special for any who pleased her fancy, a savory bowl of stew kept warm or a pastry filled with tart cherries.

Warrior chuckled. He, in turn, knew something about female appetites. Ten minutes on his knees in Ameirace’s small pantry was a fair price for a cherry pastry. She carefully hung her food-stained apron on a hook and eagerly lifted her clean but worn tunic out of the way. An expectant smile illuminated her chubby face and her cheeks flushed a bright red. When he closed his eyes, he didn’t see the faded stretch marks on her bulging pale belly, her sagging thighs, or the gray curls of her bush. Her strong, flour-coated hands held him firmly to his task and his tongue slid between her plump, gushing folds. Ameirace never affected the exquisite fragrances of Lady Atia but cleanliness and the good smells of her kitchen were perfume enough. 

He could ignore her wheezing breaths. He could close his eyes and imagine that he was with whomever his fancy might choose. He imagined the haughty Lady Atia, the brave Camilla, or bookish Niobe. Even Niobe put aside her accounts from time to time, and sought a few moments respite. Sometimes, a stroll in the garden simply wasn’t wholly sufficient and even a sensual foot massage didn’t suffice.

Often his secret musings left him visibly aroused. Ameirace always seemed pleased with him and with herself, naively assuming credit for his blatant arousal. She pushed him onto his back and straddled him with her thick thighs. Huffing and puffing, she took her pleasure with enthusiasm. 

No one could match Ameirace’s cherry pastries.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

 

“I don’t know, cousin” Atia said not hiding her doubt. “We are of the exalted Merchant caste and not of the lowly Slavers. Our family simply does not breed slaves despite the substantial profits to be made there.”

The Merchants’ caste is a highly prestigious caste on Gor. While Slavers’ caste also buys and sells and fulfills a necessary function, it does not share in the standing of the Merchants’ caste. As slaves are owned like property and held no better than animals, they are also bred for specific tasks and appearances like other domestic beasts.

“I’m not breeding slaves for sale,” answered here cousin, Gnaea Tutilla Artemisia. “You know me better than that. I have a two kajira of the proper age and left to their sluttish selves, they will likely get themselves pregnant. I’d just like to have something to say about the sire as I shall likely have to tolerate their pups running about my house.”

“Well my Warrior has the blond hair, blue eyes, and fair complexion you desire,” Atia offered, once her concerns had been answered. He is tractable and not very smart.” The two walked into the garden where Warrior squatted among the rows of flowers and weeded. He was naked except for his collar. “Warrior!” Atia called and snapped her fingers sharply.

Warrior had not seen the women and jumped to his feet at the sound. He saw his mistress and her cousin and threw himself to the ground.

Gnaea found the spectacle quite amusing and clapped her hands.

Warrior knelt with his forehead pressed firmly to the ground. His keen enthusiasm pleased Atia but his clumsy lack of grace annoyed her slightly. “Stand, boy, and display yourself.” Since Bosk’s death, he somehow annoyed her more and more.

Atia’s servants were well trained. Warrior stood and complied with her order with considerably more grace than he had shown abasing himself and with no hesitation. His forehead was marked by a smear of garden dirt.

“His collar befits him” agreed Gnaea, using the phrase conventionally used to express approval of a slave’s appearance.

Warrior rarely had few opportunities to see the word outside the gates of Lady Atia’s palace. Naked and leashed, he followed Martis, oblivious to the stares that followed him down the street. He gawked the unfamiliar sights. He knew little of the plans. However, he was no stranger to ignorance and knew very well that curiosity was unbecoming of a kajirus. He had been well schooled in patience. 

Martis enjoyed her new life as Camilla’s apprentice. She was small but strong despite her size. She was very quick and she was fearless. The short sword she bore fit her hand well and she learned its use very quickly.

Warrior knelt where she directed when she stopped to enjoy a flavored ice she purchased from a street vendor. He licked her fingers clean when she had finished and then resumed his journey to Gnaea’s townhouse.

“Here he is,” Martis told Didyme, Gnaea’s chief of household.

“You’re certain he’s a natural blond,” Didyme pondered. Warrior knelt on hands and feet on a low table and suffered her thorough inspection. 

Martis held his collar firmly and nodded. “Where are the girls?”

Didyme assured herself that Warrior’s roots were as blond as the tips of his hair. The scant remnants of his axillary and pubic hair confirmed his blondness. She slapped his buttock smartly, signaling her grudging approval. Xanthe and Galatea were her favorites and she wanted the best for them. “The slavers will be here in the morning and he’ll do the girls then. Let’s feed him and put him down for the night. Make certain he doesn’t spend himself. We’ll need everything he has.

Warrior slept the night in a small box and dreamed of the morning. Restrained supine, he was unable to touch himself. Many times had he been put to use by the Lady Atia, her friends, or the women of her household. Tomorrow, two slave girls would be his to use and he savored the thought and found himself aroused him.

Cleite of the Slavers’ Caste arrived in the morning with Thecla, her assistant.

They restrained his wrists as he had expected but no blindfold followed. Slaves were frequently blindfolded when bred to prevent any emotional attachment. Warrior saw the two kajira and they were as beautiful as he had dreamed. Lithe and lively, they were deliciously anxious.

He was confused when he was positioned kneeling on the low table. Perhaps the girl would slide under him. Thecla, the younger of the slavers washed his sex with a damp cloth. Martis took a firm grip on his collar and he had no opportunity to ask any questions. Cleite stood by with two vials in her hand.

Thecla stood beside him and reached down to touch his sex again. She slipped off the penis band that rested below the glans. She took him firmly in her hand and worked him strongly. Frantic, Warrior tried to writhe away, but Martis kept a grip on his collar. In minutes, his cock erupted strongly with thick ropes of seed, which Cleite captured neatly in the vial. Xanthe squealed in shocked surprise.

“Amazing!” Martis exclaimed.

“This is for you, Xanthe,” Didyme said.

Cleite took the vial of seed and led Xanthe away by the hand. “Come with me, my dear. Won’t hurt a bit.”

Thecla gave Warrior a few minutes to recover, then grabbed his cock again. She worked him strongly, but his body responded more slowly. “Galatea, remove your small clothes and let him sniff you.

Galatea was puzzled. She looked briefly to Didyme but she was a kajira and conditioned to obey. She wrestled off her breechcloth and wadded it up into a ball. She pressed the intimate garment into Warrior’s face. Warrior tried to pull away but was unable restrained as he was. His struggle against his bonds, Martis’ grip on his collar, and the cloth pressed into his mouth and nose was exhausting and his heaving breaths brought him yet more of her female scent. Thecla continued her expert ministrations and his body responded. More minutes passed, finally he ejaculated – much more weakly now. Warrior’s head sunk to the table as if in defeat, lifting his butt high into the air. 

Thecla examined the contents of the second vial. “We need to do better than this,” she frowned and shook her head. She laid one hand on Warrior’s tailbone and moistened two fingers in her mouth. “Martis hold on tight.”

Without ceremony, Thecla thrust one slippery finger past Warrior’s rectum then two. Her deft fingers quickly found his prostate gland and she massaged one more massive ejaculate from Warrior’s wracked body.

Lady Atia and Camilla listened in disbelief to Martis story. “She did what? You see why the Merchants’ clan stands higher than the Slavers’,” explained Atia. “I would never even allow a slaver in my house.”

“Never take a slaver’s hand, unless you’re certain that she has first had a chance to wash it,” quipped Camilla.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Breath came in heaving gasps. Sweat literally poured from Camilla’s weary body. Martis had given her quite a workout on the long conditioning run. Camilla would pay her back double in sword practice. Camilla’s wet hair hung limply, plastered to her ears. Her sweat-soaked clothes stuck awkwardly to her perspiring skin. Her underclothes rode up uncomfortably into her crotch. The straps on her sandals were slippery with sweat. Sweat collected in a pool at her feet in the dirt.

Carrying a tray with a cloth, a horn scraper, and a beaker of scented water and a three-legged stool, Buttercup greeted her in the courtyard.

Not without difficulty, Buttercup removed her wringing wet tunic. Large circular stains marked the armpits. He peeled off her breechcloth, stuck fast to her groin and left her as naked as he. Sweat dribbled down her chest from between her breasts and from under her breasts. Sweat oozed from her armpits and dripped down her sides. Sweat trickled from between her buttocks. Her rubbery thighs quivered with fatigue.

Buttercup wiped her face and neck with a cloth moistened with scented water. Camilla felt a bit refreshed. He scraped her shoulders and back with his horn scraper and she felt invigorated. He dabbed her breasts with his scented cloth and scraped her flanks and belly. This feeling was all together different. Camilla felt her nipples awaken to his touch. Buttercup seemed not to notice and knelt to work on her lower body, scraping her hips, buttocks, thighs and lower legs. Camilla placed a weary hand on his broad, strong back and steadied herself.

Despite the scented water, Camilla smelled the reek of her own sweat. She was also very aware of Buttercup’s nearness. His breath burned hot on her bare skin and her own desire mounted.

She surrendered to her lust and pushed him to the ground. She straddled his head and rode his face to her first orgasm. Where she touched the ground, dust and dirt stuck to her wet skin. She turned and looked back. She saw that his body was ready for her. She grasped his sex, gently but firmly between her thumb and first finger and it was Buttercup’s turn to groan. She mounted him and rode him slowly and deliberated to a second delicious, unstoppable orgasm. He was still hard when she pulled away from him. Leaning her left elbow on his chest, she slipped off his penis band with her right hand and worked him relentlessly to a messy climax. 

She gathered his ejaculate on her hand and showed him what she had milked out of him. “I need a bath,” she said. She slipped her hand between his thighs and cupped his ball sac gently. Her hand was slick with his emissions. “We both need a bath.”


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

 

Warrior was roused at dawn, fed, and led from Atia’s palace by Martis and Niobe. He had expected to be leashed but had been surprised when Martis bound his wrists behind his back and in addition loosely shackled his ankles. No one explained and he asked nothing because he knew that curiosity is not becoming of a kajirus. Niobe tucked a supple quirt in the belt of her robe. They led him down toward the harbor and he knew the harbor was the site of the great market of the city. Suddenly, he guessed their purpose and he just stopped.

Since Bosk’s death and his misadventure with the Lady Alycia’s nanny goat, the Lady Atia had seemed less pleased with him. Apparently, she had decided to sell him in the market to see if she might recover his purchase price. She was well known has a successful merchant. 

Warrior stubbornly resisted. He had no wish to be sold like a domestic animal. His sudden rebellion surprised Martis. She tugged at his leash but he resisted stubbornly and pulled back. His bulk and doggedness presented quite a challenge for the petite woman. 

Niobe struck him sharply with her quirt and the pain reminded him harshly that he was only a slave and his wishes mattered little. Truly, a slave was nothing more than a domestic animal and listed as property on the household inventory. Finally, he let himself be led down the road.

Martis looked to the left and right to see if any had witnessed her embarrassment. She had fully expected to control the larger male and was disappointed by her momentary failure. “Thanks, Niobe,” she admitted. “I’m glad you came along.”

“No problem, Martis. Even a well-trained slave can be unpredictable when he finds he is to be sold.”

Martis looked at Warrior and her look was not kind. He was a well-made creature, born to serve in a free woman’s household. His willful disobedience had disappointed her as much as her failure to master him unaided. Camilla would have certainly done better.

They reached the establishment of Cleite of Cos, purveyors of the best of male slaves. Her family had served the Lady Atia’s family for generations. Cleite was there with Thecla, her associate. Thecla and Martis led Warrior to the back while Niobe and Cleite attended to the paperwork.

Martis handed Thecla Warrior’s leash and undid his bindings.

His wrists and ankles free, Warrior thought of running but saw that Thecla had locked the door behind them and escape was impossible.

Thecla urged him up onto the examination table. Warrior obeyed. He knelt on hands and knees and suffered her inspection passively. No part of him escaped her careful scrutiny.

“Let me say goodbye to Warrior,” Martis said just as she and Niobe were about to leave. Niobe nodded her head indulgently. Martis was young but even Martis herself was a bit annoyed by her own sentimentality.

Thecla took her to where the slaves were held. Most were penned in groups of ten or twenty. All were naked and crowded uncomfortably together. The justification for the enterprise’s claim to quality was readily apparent.

“We only deal in the best,” Thecla smiled. “We pass lesser quality goods to our subsidiaries.” The pens were full. A major auction was scheduled several days hence. 

A male couldn’t move an arm’s length without bumping into another. The crowding and utter lack of privacy helped kept them subjugated. The new arrivals like Warrior were kept in coffin-size slave boxes for several days until they had adjusted and learned to control themselves.

Warrior lay curled around on his side in his box. His wrists and ankles were bound and tied together. He looked up when his box was opened and seeing only Thecla, looked away.

Martis had never seen him clothed but without his collar he looked even more than naked. He sighed and moved toward her when she laid her warm hand on his flat belly. He had little success with his severe restraints in the tight confines of the slave box. 

“I’ve come to say goodbye,” she said simply.

His face revealed the abject depths of his grief and sorrow.

Martis surprised herself by the depth of her feelings for the male. She once had also been a slave. She slipped her hand down and slipped off his penis band. He quieted at once. Her fingers, strengthened by her sword training, worked him efficiently. Despite his sorrow, his body responded to her ministrations. He spewed mightily to Martis’s satisfaction. Gobs of his emission left her fingers sticky. Martis wiped her hand across his mouth and kept his penis band as a remembrance. Some day she might own a boy of herown.

Warrior kissed her fingers as she turned away.

“Calms them every time!” Thecla snickered, as Martis washed and dried her hands. “See us, if you ever need work.”


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

 

Camilla had come so many times that she couldn’t catch her breath. Her exhausted muscles felt like water.

Buttercup allowed himself a small smile at his success. He really was getting better at this. He took a deep breath, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and pressed his mouth once more against her sopping sex. Well, practice makes perfect. 

Camilla, her female parts throbbing and exquisitely hypersensitive, jumped back and pushed him away – laughing. “Enough, enough,” she said. “Enough for now – at least. Give Niobe a turn!”

Buttercup turned to Niobe, eager to show off his skills and excited for a new challenge.

Niobe sat on the second couch and waited her turn impatiently. She thrilled to see Buttercup turn to her for he was truly a handsome youth. A faint sheen of perspiration accented the muscularity of his well-toned body. His rampant sex betrayed his open lust. His eyes flamed with energy and mischief. Her friend Camilla was flushed, head to toe. She still panted to catch her breath and glowed with sated lust. She previewed what Niobe had in store. Niobe recognized her own burning need and anticipated her impending pleasure. Teasingly, she opened her robe and displayed herself wantonly. 

She reached out to the youth and grasped his sex in her outstretched hand. His velvety skin was searing hot to her touch. She saw his fat balls bounce in their sac and felt his undeniable hardness. Her fingers stretched to encompass his girth. 

She looked up to see the hunger in his eyes. He was hungry for her and that inflamed her smoldering desire. His face glowed wetly in the candlelight. He lowered his face to her hungry sex and her thighs felt his heat. He would find her dripping wet and ready.

Her need increased, yet some thin thread of rational thought remained. The youth’s face was sopping wet from more than just his sweat – Camilla’s abundant juices drenched his chin, lips, mouth, and nose. The cleverly wicked tongue that had penetrated to Camilla’s very core was now about to slip between her own silken folds.

She just wouldn’t settle for sloppy seconds.

Buttercup was startled when she suddenly pushed him away. Before he had time to do any more than register this unexpected turn of event, Niobe had covered her sex with her free hand. She shifted her bottom and grasped his hair firmly. Then she drew him to her once again.

Buttercup probing tongue collided with Niobe’s bottom. He tested the pouting muscular ring of her most intimate opening and she groaned aloud with unbearable pleasure.

Camilla knelt beside her boy. “That’s it Cuppy! Make her come!”

Niobe stood with her hand still guarding her sex. Buttercup knelt before her. She stepped over him and straddled his shoulder, giving him full access to her nether region.

Niobe’s words encouraged Buttercup. Niobe’s response


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

 

“You would fight me?” Barbatus studied the girl carefully. She was a young woman and not a girl, despite her petite size and she had challenged him in public in front of his friends. He turned to his comrades, Germanicus and Antonius. “She wishes to fight me?” he asked in disbelief.

Their expressions showed their surprise and disbelief. 

“Perhaps you would challenge me to hopscotch?” he grinned and hopped about on one leg. Germanicus and Antonius laughed aloud. “I am a very formidable hopper,” he warned. “I have defeated these clowns every single time we play.” He pointed to his friends.

“He’s right,” Germanicus agreed good-naturedly. “We won’t take him on any more.”

The woman did not smile. She drew her short sword from its scabbard. “I would fight you with this.”

Barbatus took a habitual step back at the unmistakable sound of metal gliding over leather. His smile faded. Things were becoming serious. He studied the woman’s face. Her short hair was dark and her eyes brown. He tried but didn’t recognize her.

Germanicus laughed. “Perhaps, Barbatus, she frightens you?”

“You have always been quite the swordsman with the ladies,” added Antonius. “She won’t be the first you’ve left bleeding.”

“Remember that damned whore he fucked in the ass?” Germanicus recalled.

“I will fight you, if you insist.” Barbatus said, responding to his friends’ comments.

“Always the gentleman!” Germanicus quipped.

“But I would not soil my garment. I suspect your blood will stain and who knows what other foul fluids may leak from your torn and broken carcass. I did not dress for the abattoir tonight, though my friends are swine.” Barbatus handed Germanicus his sword belt. He reached up, unfastened the clasp and drew his silk tunic over his head. He kicked off his sandals and stood bare-chested in his small clothes. Germanicus returned his sword belt and scabbard.

The woman kicked off her sandals to better her footing. She sheathed her sword and studied her foe. His broad muscular chest matched his powerful thighs and legs. A thick thatch of hair covered his chest and belly disappeared under his small clothes. His belly had only the slightest hint of paunch. 

Barbatus sensed her hesitation. “Perhaps a lady does not wish to expose herself to the lusting eyes of strangers. 

“Strangers, perhaps, but you are different,” Martis answered. She stripped to her small clothes. Modest but clearly feminine breasts stood high and proud on her trim form. Months of work had earned her long, smooth muscles of a swordswoman under her unblemished skin. “You and I have met before.”

Barbatus’ eyes betrayed his confusion.

“I am Martis, of the household of the Lady Atia. You raped me.”

“I know Lady Atia well but I know of no she-warrior named Martis in that household.”

“Perhaps I was different then and not worth remembering when we met. Captain, I am surely worth remembering now.”

Antonius and Germanicus shared their friend’s confusion. “I’d remember those cute little tits,” Antonius offered.

“Let us see your ass. I know Barbatus’ preferences and perhaps he will recognize you from behind,” added Germanicus.

She had great tits, Barbatus agreed and perhaps now he was beginning to remember her. One cannot rape a slave, he puzzled. A slave does not own her own body or her own will. “You were a slave! A man cannot rape a slave!”

Martis saw understanding dawn on the hated Captain’s face. “True, I was once thought a slave. I once thought myself a slave – but a slave must be offered the Warrior’s Choice – death or submission. No one had ever offered me that choice until Lady Atia. Lady Atia offered me the choice and I chose death. 

“But you are alive!” Barbatus exclaimed.

“Yes, the Wheel turns. Today I am alive and I am no longer a slave. My body, my will, and my memories are fully mine once again. I have worked hard and long. Camilla taught me well. Soon you will be dead and my dreams more pleasant. Lift your sword, Barbatus, unless you would have me slaughter you like the swine you are.” Martis hefted her sword.

“Barbatus, kill the sow before she bores us all to death. She just loves to talk and hear the screechy sound of her whining voice like all the bitches,” Germanicus grumbled.

“Just try not to damage those fine tits,” Antonius sighed.

Barbatus drew his sword and unlimbered his arms and shoulders. He was beginning to perspire despite the cool night air. “Fight!”

Martis raised her sword and tested the footing with her bare feet.

Razor-sharp blades menaced bare skin. Barbatus’ strength and reach tested Martis’ grace and agility. He lunged and she danced away. He lunged again and she deigned not to parry but rather danced away again.

“Stand and fight!” he barked. “Stand and fight like a man.”

“But I’m not a man,” she answered simply.

“Barbatus, you oaf. She’s not a fucking man. Look at her tits.” Germanicus jibed.

“The damned cock-sucking cunt won’t fight me.” Barbatus growled, seeking some measure of support from his friends. This whole thing was taking longer than he had expected.

“Love to wrap a tongue around those nipples,” Antonius laughed.

Even Barbatus smiled, but his smile faded, as he had to parry and back-pedal to counter a lightening flurry of feints and attacks. The onslaught stopped and Barbatus looked to return to the offensive. In an instant, her attack resumed and Martis pressed on relentlessly. Once again, Barbatus could only parry and back pedal. 

His friends hooted in derision. He shook his head to clear his mind and tried to ignore their scornful comments. Let them fight her. She was quicker than he had believed. His longer sword gave him an advantage of reach but her shorter sword made him vulnerable if she could close

Martis pressed on and suddenly she was inside his guard. 

Barbatus could not bring his longer sword to bear. He swept his sword down strongly but her left shoulder blocked his right forearm. His sword passed harmlessly behind her back.

Martis shuddered from the blow but turned with its force bringing her right side forward. She thrust her shorter sword into the soft flesh beneath his breastbone.

Barbatus looked down to see her blade slide effortlessly into his body. He felt more surprise than pain as strength fled his limbs and he collapsed in a lifeless heap.

Martis retrieved her sword and glared at her fallen foe. She looked up at his friends, Antonius and Germanicus, who looked at her in utter disbelief tinged with a nascent element of fear.

She ignored them both and knelt beside Barbatus’ body.

“What is she doing?” Antonius asked as Martis sliced through the white linen of his small clothes.

Germanicus could not find words to frame a reply as she yanked the cloth away, leaving Barbatus nakedly exposed. He could not do other than watch. Martis’ blade left a cut where she had cut away his small clothes. The cut did not bleed. Barbatus was well beyond pain.

Antonius watched speechless also.

Finally, Germanicus turned away and shook his head to rid himself of the picture before him. “Come, Antonius. Let us leave. Our sad friend Barbatus has no further need of it anyway.”

“He may well be pleased to find himself in female hands!” Antonius added as they turned away.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

 

Atia looked up from her scroll and frowned. The evening had grown dark and the tiny black letters indistinct. She needed more light. She took a second candle from the bundle. She lit it with the first. Light filled the room together with the fragrance of the scented wax.

“I see Martis gave you candles too,” said Camilla. “She gave me two dozen also. It’s her new hobby.”

Atia examined the bundle of scented candles. “I thought you worked her so hard at her sword skills, she had no time for leisure pursuits.”

“She’s really gotten quite good with her short sword. She has a lot of natural talent – and she’s come quite a long ways. Somehow, she’s now found more time for other interests.”

“She’s become quite a well rounded person,” Atia agreed. “More happy – more relaxed. She no longer seems quite so driven and so boring. Camilla, send a boy to my chamber tonight.”

 

Never before had he visited the Mistress’ chamber. Its luxurious appointments contrasted sharply with the austere simplicity of the slave kennel. He saw the Lady Atia sitting on the bed and dropped to his knees. He was naked except for his collar, but he had long been denied clothing for so long, that he could hardly remember being clothed.

The Lady sat on the edge of her richly carved wooden bed amidst the finely made linens and blankets and watched him carefully. “You’re a lovely boy,” she said simply. What do we call you?”

“’Boy,’ my Lady as it pleases you.”

Atia smiled. She had asked Camilla for a ‘boy,’ and no one seemed to employ much creativity in naming her kajiri.

Boy found the hot intensity of her stare impossible to bear. His eyes fled briefly to the room’s elaborate wall hangings, and beautiful appointments. The colorful carpets were thick and luxurious.

“My Boy, attend to me,” she said quietly. She spoke quietly but the authority in her voice was inescapable and beyond question.

Boy lowered his lips and kissed her jeweled sandal.

“Remove my sandals.”

He removed her sandals, finding his hands suddenly clumsy. Her graceful feet were meticulously groomed. He placed her footwear neatly beside her bed then looked up. Then he saw her toy, mounted in its leather harness, lying beside her on the bed and trembled in fear.

Atia read his expression easily. They were all the same, the first time. “Don’t be afraid. You are a lovely boy and you are mine. I will have you tonight, but you will first beg me and strap on my harness with your own ham-fisted hands.

He could not hide his disbelief. He shook his head doubtfully but her perfume filled his head. He was awash in her female presence. Her desire was palpable and ignited his own despite his trepidation. His body answered her without words and naked, he could not deny his arousal.

Atia laughed. Her laugh was gentle and unforced. She laid her hand softly in his head and tousled his hair. “I would first have your mouth on my body.” She opened her thighs slightly and pulled back her robe.

Boy’s eyes darted to her sex, now nakedly revealed among the thick neatly trimmed curls of her bush. Her hand guided him. She was already wet when his tongue slid between her folds. He was eager but inexperienced. She guided him with both hands. She lifted her legs over his shoulder and pulled his entire body close. Her body answered him readily and she made no attempt to hide her pleasure. She closed her trim thighs on either side of his head. His easy success motivated yet greater effort and his greater efforts evoked yet greater response. Atia came and lost her breath. Boy’s exertions left him almost as breathless as she. Fondly, she stroked his face, wet with the evidence of her arousal. 

Boy felt a moment’s triumph but then he looked up and saw her ivory phallus mounted in its leather harness.

“Are you done for the night, lovely boy?” she teased. “That was only an appetizer.” When she was younger, she had been frightened of the power of her orgasms. She had allowed herself only one, lest she lose her mind to pleasure utterly. Now she was older and more comfortable with her appetites. She lifted her toy from the bed and unfolded the straps. “Shall I call another boy from the kennel?”

Boy felt panic and pressed his mouth to her sex once more. The kennel was well stocked with other boys, all ready to please their mistress. Should she send him back to the kennel, she might never call for him again. Now he knew better what was needed and brought her once again to orgasm. He looked up hopefully but saw that she still held her toy in her hands.

“I would have you take this in your mouth,” she said and studied his reaction.   
He kissed the head awkwardly. It was cool to his lips but had no taste. She pushed it into his mouth, gently but firmly, and he gagged.

She laughed. “I see you will need more practice. Perhaps you might practice with my Bosk?” She then remembered that Bosk was dead and her Warrior sold off.

Boy understood the warning but knew nothing of Bosk or Warrior and returned to his task more eagerly.

Atia slid from the bed. Boy knelt at her feet. “Lovely boy, I would have you. Now.”

Boy was visibly scared but he took the harness from his mistress’ hands. Mindful of the substantial privilege he had been granted, he fastened the belt around her waist and the two straps around her smooth, firm thighs. The damned thing looked so damned huge. Boy looked up. Atia’s eyes gleamed with desire. Her wanting was palpable and irresistible. His will was nothing before hers for he was only a slave. “Mistress, please take me. I am yours.” He whispered softly but loudly enough to be heard.

His ass was high and toned. Atia was gentle and persistent. She was not disappointed. The first time, she took him from behind with him bent over at the waist. She spent ten ehn slowly working the fat head past his tight rectum. She warned him to relax lest he make things more unpleasant than necessary. Finally, he opened for her like a flower. She savored her triumph. Like rich red wine, taking a boy this way is an acquired taste. The act requires some skill. She recalled her first several attempts and chuckled at her clumsiness.

She took him the second time with him lying supine so that she might better see and touch the script “K” that she had had branded on his left thigh. Many find a boy’s expressions distracting and prefer to take him prone. Amused, she watched the various expressions that flashed across on his face, namely, fear, pain, and delicious surrender. Things went much faster the second time and again, Atia took her pleasure fully.

When she had finished, she sent him to clean himself and her toy. He returned and served her once more with his mouth. She kissed him gently on the forehead. She sent him back to the kennel for night. The flickering candlelight made his skin glow softly. 

Atia took a candle and studied it carefully. These were Martis’ candles, her new hobby. The candles shapes were all exactly the same. Something about the shape affected her deeply. So earnestly hopeful – that’s it – and somewhat amusing. The candles had the life-like shape of an erect penis. Her boys were so proud their members – one second, hard and haughtily proud, the next moment spewing gobs of messiness, and then so soft and wrinkly. Her Martis had grown into a true warrior of Gor. Atia wondered if Barbatus would be pleased to know that Martis had put his sex to such a useful purpose.


End file.
